


The Prince: A Silken Seduction

by WeaverOfWords (Fantasy_elf)



Category: Avengers (Comics), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Abuse, Adultery, Domestic Violence, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Gentle Loki, Healing, Light Bondage, Magic, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Possessive Loki (Marvel), Seduction, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:35:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22132654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fantasy_elf/pseuds/WeaverOfWords
Summary: Short story/Imagine:Silva (the reader) has known many hardships since marrying her abusive husband, Lord Havor. But then, one night, whilst during a banquet celebration at the palace, she catches the eye of the dark prince, Loki. His clever, gleaming eyes see everything. They know her every secret.As she prepares for a long, torturous night of bedding her spouse, she soon begins to realise that the creature entering her chambers is not who he claims to be. He is not her husband at all! He is an imposter in disguise... And he wants her all for himself.18+ Includes sex scenes, some abuse of the heroine (not from Loki) and some slight bondage and dub-con. Be warned.
Relationships: Loki (Marvel) & Original Female Character(s), Loki (Marvel) & Reader, Loki (Marvel)/Original Female Character(s), Loki (Marvel)/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 225





	The Prince: A Silken Seduction

**Author's Note:**

> A quick note to my readers. I hope some of you (to those whom it applies to) have had a good Christmas and happy New Year. I have been away from my stories for a while due to the festive season, but now I am back and continuing with the next chapters to my current fics. 
> 
> Here is a new short/imagine story that includes a very seductive, sly Asgardian Prince and a young maiden in need of some love and affection. I hope you all enjoy and like it. I intend for this to only be a sweet and short fic, not a full-length piece. However, I enjoyed playing around with the characters so much that I wanted to have your view on how this will go. I'm thinking of adding just another 2 or 3 chapters to this, some extra scenes between Silva and Loki in their daily... ahem, kinky lives. Let me know your thoughts on this and comment below. 
> 
> Enjoy!

_"I am not afraid anymore,_

_standing in the eye of the storm._

_Ready to face this,_ _dying to taste this_

_...sick sweet warmth"_

\- Halsey (Not Afraid Anymore)

-o-o-

**Asgard**

-o-o-

I sit there at the table, with the heat of my husband’s body at my side, both a comfort and a plague. I hate banquets and this one is no different to the many others I’d had to suffer through. Asgard and its people were celebrating a great victory tonight; the re-establishing of control over the northern edges of Vanaheim, the last of those which had been under the rule of the rock trolls. A wonderful success, indeed, yet I could not find the joy in my heart enough to smile.

The golden halls glowed with dazzling magical light and the dancing flames of the roaring fireplace. Voices cheered and sang in gladness, bodies dancing to and fro in celebration. Somewhere a lute strummed a steady melodious beat. Rows upon rows of tables sit around us, laden with various meats, fruits, sweet treats and wines – a reward for everyone, even the heavily armoured guards who remained on duty during the long night of festivities.

I sneak a glance to my spouse, taking in his slightly drunken-glazed eyes. Our marriage had been one borne of duty but not love; a reality I had accepted sadly from the very beginning. He was twice my age, wealthy and had offered to forget my father's debts towards him if only I would willingly accept his hand. An offer I could not have refused even if I wished to.

His thick greying beard covered half of his face. Sitting so close, Havor smelt of his herby drink and sweat. His body, round and heavy from too much food, shifted in his seat as he eyed a serving girl wandering passed with a pitcher. I relax a little with growing relief, silently thanking all of the deities of the universe that I could think of.

Perhaps, if things remained as they were and he stayed in a good mood, he would seek the company of someone else’s bed tonight instead of mine. I very much longed to have a rest from his aggressively demanding needs. A night alone reading one my beloved tomes sounded like perfection. And maybe, just maybe, I would be able to have some peace away from him.

I lowered my head, tucking a long strand of brown hair behind my ear. I intended to remain as quiet and invisible as possible, and then, hopefully, be free from these halls within the hour.

My gaze flickers upward, peering through my lashes to watch the crowd around me. The head table lay sat to one side, giving me a full view of the Royal Queen Frigga and the All-Father himself, Odin. Frigga, dressed in all elegance and silks, clapped with joy to the music. She turned, smiling towards her husband, who returned her look of adoration with such warmth that it made a knot of envy curl into the pit of my belly.

What must that feel like? I wondered quietly to myself. To have someone look at me like that in such a way, with such love, as though I were something to be treasured and not something not to be dominated into submission.

Luckily enough, I’d been able to style my hair in such a way so that the left side of my face remained covered, hiding the evidence of Havor’s earlier fury. My gown, a full-bodied and long-necked thing, covered the finger-shaped bruises that I knew now decorated my throat. My hand rose, self-consciously ensuring the fabric hadn’t drooped to reveal the offending marks. Not many people knew that Havor had a problem with his temper. Only a few did and even they turned a blind eye, intimidated by the knowledge that he was a trusted high-ranking member of the All-father’s guards and that--

A tall, powerful figure walks into my line of vision…

I lower my hand, my attention fixating on the King’s golden-haired son, Thor. He and his warrior companions swagger up the golden steps towards the King and his Wife, laughing and cheering with obvious victory. I eye the prince, unable to help myself. A blush forms across my cheeks.

Before my marriage to Havor, Thor has been my most secret desire above all else. Although, what use that had been, I do not know, as I knew very well that someone like him could never have betrothed himself to such a lowly maiden as myself. Still… There was something about his strength, his proud yet gently handsome face, that had made me somewhat wistful. He represented everything I had wanted in a man. Kind. Courageous. Honourable. And I knew without a doubt that any woman belonging to him would have been truly cherished above all things. I’d always been uneasy around men, even as a child, but Thor had been one of the very rare few whom I did not feel intimidated by.

Saddened by the thought, I lower my gaze again, unable to watch them any longer. I reach for my goblet, about to take a sip, when Havor’s broad, calloused hand covers the top, preventing me from lifting it.

“That’s enough for you,” he says coolly, sliding the cup towards himself. He lifts it to his own lips, swigging it down as though it were merely water. “You’re not to have any more, do you understand?”

“Yes.” I nod, the gesture automatic. I wouldn’t fight him. I never did. It wasn’t worth the pain that would soon follow.

He ignores me, returning to stare at the lovely maidens twirling and leaping at the centre of the hall. I bite back my sigh of relief, glad to realise I’d dodge another potential mishap with him.

After a few moments, I return to observing the Royal family, my focus skimming across each individual. My eyes fall to the last and final figure seated at the end of the table. My entire frame stiffens, alarmed to see that I am being openly stared at in return.

A pair of eerily bright green eyes stare back at me with all the intensity of a feline on the hunt. Dark long hair falls around his face, as shining and as soft-looking as the wings of a raven. His pale face is a mask, revealing absolutely nothing to me. Adorned in fabrics of green, blacks and golds, he looked more like a wraith from the underworld than a creature belonging to the golden realm.

_The king’s second son, Prince Loki._

Everything about him was a harsh and stark comparison to that of his sibling. Whereas Thor was brightness and good, Loki was known to be troubled. Nobody amongst the court trusted him. As the god of mischief, he had a tendency to torment people, to lie and scheme to get his own way in things. Rumours grew and spread nearly every day about the happenings that occurred within the palace. And usually, somewhere, they all included his name within the mix. In fact, many whispered that he’d sold his own soul, delving into the darkest kinds of magic in his desire for power and control. Some respected him out of duty to their King, but most of the others feared him.

The bards sang songs of his deadliness, both with blades and in beauty. The women avoided him, always opting instead to surround the noble Thor with their flirtatious attentions. If he ever took a woman to bed, no one ever knew or spoke of it. He was a complete enigma to us all. Yet part of me couldn’t help but wonder…

What kind of a lover would he be?

Everything about him screamed of harshness. I couldn’t imagine him being the sort to be tender. His long fingers were clever and deft. His silent gaze gleamed with an almost unsettling intelligence. His slender body was built like that of a sleek beast, graceful and fast. No, he most certainly would not be a _giving_ lover. I vouched that he’d be all taking and demanding. Perhaps even cruel.

I shiver, both in trepidation and nervous interest. I blink then, a hot flush creeping across my face at my own treacherous thoughts. Why was I even thinking about such things?

His curving lips lift on one side, a ghostly smirk flashing at me from across the room. He lifts his bejewelled goblet to drink from it, but his glacial eyes do not leave me even for a heartbeat. I am completely entrapped, unable to even breathe, like a rabbit before a snake about to strike. My pulse begins to roar in my ears. It’s almost as if he’s seeing right into my mind, knowing every thought, every fear. Missing nothing.

A heavy hand settles upon my lap and I jerk, broken free of the spell. I snap my head around, forcing my attention to Havor who is scowling down at me.

“It’s getting late, _Wife._ ” He grinds out the word as if the very sound of it offends him. If he noticed the Prince’s attention on me, he does not comment on it. “Go now. Return to our rooms...” His fingers dig in through the folds of my gown, clenching against my thigh with obvious meaning. “And make sure that you are ready to _serve_ me.”

I swallow thickly, tears prickling at my eyes. My stomach lurches as it sinks in that I would not be free tonight after all. I open my mouth, about to attempt to somehow talk my way out of the situation, but I knew it would be pointless. His grip on me hardens even further, bruising.

I wince and then nod. “As you wish. _”_

I lower my head, hiding behind my curtain of hair in hopes of hiding the despair creeping across my face. I rise, sweeping away from the room and festivities without so much as a glance backwards. I pass several guards, my anxiety growing with each step.

I enter the chambers that Odin has offered to us for the evening, closing the door soundly behind me. My mind is in chaos as I stare bleakly around the room. From the large bed covered in golden silks, to the roaring fireplace and the thickly carved tables and chairs; everything was extravagant. Fit for a King. In any other circumstances, I would have relished in the luxury of it. Only now all I felt was dread for the night to come.

“Please,” I whisper in a plea to any god, deity or spirit that could hear me. “Please, let him finish quickly.” Hopefully, with all the drink Havor had had, our mating would be short. All I wanted to do was crawl into the massive bed and hide.

_Make sure that you are ready to serve me…_

With shaking fingers, I begin to undress, pulling off my gown and then folding it neatly away into one of the Ottomans. My slippers are next before I start to unpin my hair. I eye one of my pretty white nightdresses but do not put on one, for without a doubt Havor would end up ruining it. I reach for one of the silken bedsheets and wrap it around my willowy frame, sitting upon the edge of the bed.

And then… I wait...

Shivers wrack my frame, growing in intensity with each passing moment. A few moments turn into what feels like an eternity before, at last, I hear footsteps approach the door. A shadow drifts at the gap at the bottom and sheer fear slithers down my back.

The handle turns. The wooden door creaks as it slowly opens to reveal the wide figure of Havor at its threshold. For a terrible heartbeat, I just sit there, trembling. Eyes wide.

I wait obediently for the command that would undoubtedly come— _On your back_ or _get on your knees—_ but he doesn’t speak a single word. He hovers there, shrouded by shadows so that I cannot see him very clearly. For a long while, he simply stares at me, watching me closely for some reason.

My brows furrow and I shift nervously in my seat upon the bed. Coldness rushes through me. What was he waiting for? Will he not speak?

Slowly, he prowls forward, stepping into the room. The door closes behind him, sealing us into the room together. I can see his face now; a weathered, bearded visage that makes my stomach curl every time that I look at it. His eyes are dark pits, fathomless, knifing into me from across the short distance. They slide from the top of my hair, across my naked shoulders and then further down across my barely covered body.

He’s waiting for something, but I do not know what. My insides roil, a sense of foreboding hitting me hard like a fist. The suspense of it is killing me, so I rise and step towards him. I eye his expression timidly, looking for any signs of displeasure or aggression.

I say nothing, as I know how much he hates to hear me speak. Instead, I lower my gaze respectfully and then drop the sheets from around my body. Cool air kisses my skin and my nipples bead in response. My arms start to rise, every instinct crying at me to cover my nakedness. I force them down to my sides and try to keep my composure. I dare not look at him. I do not wish to see the violent lust that he often showed. As if I were only a body to take. A hole to bury himself in.

Something tightens in the air between us. Something unknown. I can feel him marking every inch of my flesh with his stare. Burning.

Biting back a strangled sob, I lower to a kneel at his booted feet. I will my hands to stop their shaking as I reach for the fastening to his trousers.

His roughened palm settles upon me, pausing my movements and I try not to flinch away in disgust at the contact. Confused, I lift my face, searching his for some kind of direction. He didn’t seem angry at all. Hunger darkens his face, so stark and real that I can’t help but stare at him. It carries a strange warmth with it, something that I had never seen before from him.

I shiver, unsure of how to proceed. “Do you...” I rasp, licking at my lips nervously for a moment. “Do you not wish for my mouth, Husband?”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t so much as a blink. Nor does he strike out at me for daring to ask him such a question. And it is then that an unsettling worm of suspicion curls its way through me.

Who was this stranger standing before me? I recognised his face, yet he was not my husband. Not the violent brute who would pin me down and beat me into submission daily. Despite all of the wine I’d seen him guzzling earlier on, he stood steadily. The usual choppy rasp of his breathing was nowhere to be seen.

I’m so lost in confusion that I don’t realise he’s raised his hand until his thumb brushes against my jawline. A ghostly, caressing sweep.

“I wish for many things from you, beloved one,” he says. His voice is smooth, tight with some unfathomable emotion. “And tonight I will endeavour to demand each and every one of them from you, but first… I desire your kiss.”

My kiss? I blanch at that, fear gripping me. I lean away from him, slowly rising to my feet, curling my arms around my naked body. Havor had never kissed me. Not once. In fact, the only time he had done so was during our wedding ceremony. He did not participate in such _silly, insignificant things_.

“Who...” I’m barely able to speak. “Who are you?” I take a step back, alarm rising in me like a storm.

Then, quite startlingly, a small smile dances up across his mouth. An actual smile!

His broad form stalks closer towards me. “So, you will not kiss your devoted husband then, Silva? Shame on you.” He teases playfully. My heart leaps at the foreign sound of my name upon his tongue.

I edge back another step, reaching the bed. I grab for a coverlet, snapping it around me with haste, not once looking away from the imposter before me.

I shake my head both in disbelief and certainty. “You are not my husband.”

Once close enough, his arm lifts again, fingers hovering in the air inches away from my cheek, directly above the darkened mark there.

A low sigh leaves him, filled with such pity that I can barely find the air to breathe. “He is such a roughened beast to hurt you thus. I should have him whipped.”

“What is happening?” I whisper, more to myself than to him. “What devilry is this?”

He leans closer and I catch the scent of wine upon his lips and something else. Like leather and musk. A smell that I can not recognise but do not find unpleasant.

I barely have time to react when his wide hand delves gently into my locks, ensnaring at the base of my nape, pulling me to him. His mouth begins to descend, his breath mating against mine.

“Open to me. I want to taste you.”

His head starts to lower further, almost--

“No!” It comes out a whimper as I start to push at him in earnest. “Please, don’t...”

My plea goes unheard as his lips open, capturing mines in a searing, passionate kiss. An arm snakes around me, drawing me up tight against a firm chest. I squeak, taken by surprise as his hot tongue quickly sneaks its way into my mouth. Like a man dying of thirst, he drinks from me, tasting and plundering until I’m left weak at the knees from the onslaught. Somehow we’ve moved and my back presses against a cool solid wall. Part of me rebels that I should be fighting against him, but another part of me submits, basking in the intimacy of it. I’d never been kissed like this before. It was as if he fully intended to suck the very soul from my being and into himself.

I make a small noise in the back of my throat, a feminine cry of turmoil. He responds with a low purring moan that ripples straight to my core. Reasoning nudges at me and I place my hands against a slender chest in an attempt to force him away from me. They find purchase at one point against his shoulders, tangling in soft silken dark locks. His body seems to grow taller against me, forcing my neck to crane back. Long elegant fingers tangle into my own hair, tugging and massaging gently as though unable to keep still. His lips are soft and warm. His chin smooth and hairless…

My eyes fly open at that and I pull away. He reluctantly releases me, leaning back just a little so that I can see him.

I gape in stunned surprise at the face that stares back at me. Glacial green eyes gleam down at me, drifting across my every expression with interest. The long locks I had felt were raven black, set against elegant shoulders dressed in a green and gold robe. A handsome pale face smirks at me, gently taunting, waiting for me to speak.

_Prince Loki?_

“You.” It’s all I can manage.

He hooks a knuckle under my chin, forcing me to keep my gaze on his as he smiles with a charming smugness. “Good evening, My Lady.”

I grab for his wrist to pull him away, absently noticing the fine embroidery upon the cuff of his sleeve. “You cannot be here, my lord. You must leave at once.”

“Oh, must I? If not, will I be punished?” He teases again, leaning in to inhale against my hair. His lips find my ear, murmuring against it. “I can assure you, it would be well worth the hassle.”

“Where is Havor?” I ask, my eyes skating towards the doorway as if to see him there. He would surely strike me senseless if he saw that I had another man in our chambers.

“Who knows. I do not particularly care, either,” Loki replies with growing heat as he declares silkily. “All I know is that he is not here. So now, I get to have you all to myself.”

He smells like leather, something fragrant and spicy, like incense and horses. I open my mouth to retort my displeasure at his intrusion, only for a soft moan to crawl out when his mouth finds the side of my throat. His teeth and breath playing against the skin there and my entire body erupts into goosebumps.

I swallow thickly, trying to keep my eyelids from falling closed. “What are you doing? Why are you here?”

I feel him smile against me. “I am Prince Loki of Asgard, Son of the All-father, Odin. I can be wherever I wish to be.”

“But my husband...”

Strong cool fingers wrap ever so lightly around my chin in a simple gesture of command for silence. The words die in my mouth. A deep emerald ring glistens against one digit catching the flames of the fireplace. He inches back a little so that our eyes meet and my breath snags in my throat. His are like glittering icy gems, both dangerously cool and burning bright all at once.

“Hush. Tonight _I_ shall be your husband,” he purrs. “And for tonight you shall only belong to me. Is that understood?”

I stand there shivering. I do not know how to answer. How can I refuse him? Him, a Prince. I do not wish to displease him, but at the same time, I am torn. Can he not see how inappropriate this is?

“Speak, Silva,” he breathes against my face in seductive invitation. “You have nothing to fear from me. Speak your mind and I will listen. Tell me what you want.”

What did I want? I didn’t even know myself. Every ounce of me was insisting that I flee from him. He carried power and danger around himself like a cloak. The very air seemed to sing about us, whispering against my skin like a lover. I did not know anything about this man at all, he was a stranger to me. I did not know of what cruelties he was capable of or if he would unleash them upon me if I were to reject him.

I realise then that I feared the man before me much more deeply than I ever did Havor. After all, Havor was predictable in his tempers, but Loki was unknown to me. I feared his wrath and also the thought of surrendering myself to him. Havor would be returning soon and I could not be seen entertaining this cunning Royal in my bedchambers. My life would be ruined…

Even if the idea of it was somewhat tempting.

Through the whirlwind of my thoughts, I distinctly feel the sheet around my torso being drawn away. I gasp, trying to reach for it, but Loki manages to pull it away and sling it to one side swiftly. His sly smile is unnerving, almost predatory.

The cold air sweeps across my flesh and the points of my nipples protrude against the assault. Something slides against a sensitive peak, sending a strange ache through me. I look down, confused, only to find nothing there, yet I can distinctly feel something brushing against my breast. _An unseen touch_. Another joins it, playing with the opposite breast. I suck in a breath, arching slightly, before lifting my gaze towards Loki in alarm.

“Be at ease, beloved one,” he coos softly, and it is then that I notice the luminous glow surrounding his hands. Whirling green mist weaves around his fingers and wrist, trailing like a thread between us until is undulates against my body like a physical touch. “I wish to only give you pleasure this night. Nothing else.”

I can’t move; the realisation hits me hard. I cannot lift my arms, none of my limbs belong to me any more. Hot waves rush into me, fed by the slow seductive caress of his magic. It tickles at my peaks, delving down between them to rub against my midriff, and then further still to the junction of my thighs. I squirm, squeezing them tighter in a protective gesture, only for that cool mysterious mist to sneak between them with ease and lick against the folds of my sex.

“I...” I shudder, wordless beyond reason.

This was wrong, all so very wrong. I should be calling for help or telling him to leave, yet all I could focus on what the roaming touch occurring against my womanhood. My legs part a little of their own accord, helpless against the onslaught. Something bumps and grinds against the throbbing bud of nerves there and I become completely lost…

“Oh, please!” I plead, so loud and desperate that it echoes about the room like shattering glass.

All I can see is _him_. Loki watches me with stark hunger in his expression, his eyes wandering over the length of me. Wherever those crystalline green orbs land, so do the phantom touches. Movement stirs against my hair, entangling into it like a lover's hold, drawing my head back against the wall to which I am pinned. My breast are throbbing now. An unfamiliar wetness is pooling between my thighs as my sex clenches over and over again against emptiness, craving to be filled.

I sense, rather than see, Loki move closer and the fabric of his clothing rustles. The only warning I have is of his silken hair drifting across my chest before his hot mouth encloses over a throbbing tortured nipple.

I cry out, unable to help myself. He suckles on my teat, drawing it deep into his mouth with an almost needy ferocity. His eyes fly up to mine, even as he continues to flick against me. My legs wobble, ready to collapse, but I am kept upright by the swelling vice of his magic.

Tears prickle at my eyes from the soul-destroying need now battering at my soul like a storm. I am so confused, so torn with desire. I wanted him to leave and at the same time, I wanted him to never stop. I craved to lift my arms, to touch him and draw him closer to me. I wanted more. To give him everything...

His hand slides down, aiming straight for the gap to my sex. His cool fingers run against my burning flesh, exploring gently.

“My, my, you are so deliciously wet, Silva.” He holds up his fingers for me to see. They glisten in the light, thickly coated with the evidence of my lust.

“There is no shame in desire,” he says quite calmly as if knowing my very thought and worries. “Just as there is no shame in wanting a man that is not your husband.”

“Please.” I bite back a sob, my head lolling slightly as ferocious heat swells through my groin, tightening fast. The ghostly contact against my nether-bud is causing it to swell almost painfully, ever tiny touch is like liquid fire streaming through my veins. “We must stop this.” I pant. “If he learns that you have dared to touch me, he will punish me.”

A shadow shifts within the depths of his hard stare. “He will not lay a finger on you, that I vow to you.”

At my silence, he continues. “Am I a Prince or am I not? Besides...” That taunting smirk reappears again as his gaze trails down the length of me, settling firmly on the V of dark hair hiding my womanly secrets from him. “I believe the words you really wished to say to me were, _please let me ride you until I’m screaming your name._ Yes? _”_

His hand slides between my legs again and his clever fingers find the twitching wetness of my entrance. Without warning, two smoothly slide inside, not stopping until they are seated deep to the final knuckle.

I arch with a cry borne of sheer relief.

“My goodness, you’re so responsive,” he purrs, his voice taking on a deeper edge than before. “Your husband is a fool.” He draws slowly out of my slick channel before delving back in again. “A body like yours was made for pleasure, not pain. It is a shame that he does not know how to please a woman. But not to worry, for I will give you everything that you need tonight, and much more besides.”

Over and over again, he impales me, curving up into a sweet spot that I’d never known even existed until now. My treacherous walls tighten around him, eagerly drawing him in. My hips begin to move, rolling and riding, trying to reach some kind of state of completion.

All the while, the same green mist roams across my skin, licking at my nape and dancing down my arching spine. Another creeps up my calf and thigh, sneaking higher to join his hand against my quim. Loki seems to know exactly how to touch me, how to induce the deepest moans and cries from my throat.

Every fear, worry and dread is smashed into oblivion as I stare at his perfectly handsome face. His expression is fixed upon mine, reading my every response, so incredibly attentive. His smile, that I had once thought of as cold and mocking, sends a shard of longing through my chest. Deep in his eyes, I see the cleverness of a fox, but also the shadowed need of a man wanting acceptance. I can almost hear his voice whispering to me, pleading...

_Look. Look at what I can offer you… You must be mine._

“Loki,” I say his name. A whimpering plea, a prayer. “Please, don’t toy with me any more.”

The green of his eyes blaze in victory, a sensual purr-like sound rolling through his chest.

“So you surrender, then?”

I nod. My throat is too dry to speak. If he doesn’t do something soon I would undoubtedly lose sense of myself and weep. He draws away from me, exiting my body so swiftly that I almost snarl at him. I feel so suddenly empty.

I feel myself beginning to move. My feet leave the floor as unseen hands lift my body against the wall. Tendrils of green mist wrap around my legs, spreading them wide until I am pinned into position. My arms are raised, captured together above my head so that I cannot move them. My heart leaps, waiting for the drop to come, yet instead, I simply hover there in mid-air, completely and utterly helpless. I have never been so open and displayed in my entire existence. My new position leaves nothing to the imagination, providing a clear view of my dripping cunt and the tight hole further beneath.

With a simple wave, Loki’s dark attire dissolves away from his body, revealing smooth and pale unblemished skin to my vision. His tall body is startlingly beautiful, every line and curve moulded to perfection. Instead of bulging muscles, his limbs are subtle and sleek like that of a crouching beast built for stamina rather than strength. My greedy gaze trails down, seeking out the apex of his slender thighs. The erect length of his shaft standing proudly against his midriff. It jerks under my observation, beading at the tip slightly. He grips it and lazily strokes himself, watching me closely in some kind of primitive male display.

I lick at my lips, squirming as I wait for him to continue. To end this torture.

“Do you want this?” He teases with a knowing gleam.

“Yes.” Heat flames across my face at the lustful admission.

He stalks forward a step or two. His narrow hips shift forward just the slightest until the bulb of his cock slides against my swollen folds.

“Are you certain?” He eyes me closely, his smirk growing into a full-blown boyish grin of mischievousness. “Tell me how much you want me.”

Gods, would he never stop tormenting me? Panting hard, I emit a whimper, shifting my hips back and forth in a meagre attempt to try and impale myself upon him.

“Tell me...” The command is purred. Deadly soft and silken.

“I want you inside of me!” I cry out, closing my eyes tight for a moment in mortification.

His slips the end of his cock further against me, finding my entrance and resting there with all the patience of a saint. I can feel the moisture from his tip wetting my folds even further, feeding my desperation.

“Very good,” he says. “And?...”

My bottom lip wobbles and I bite it hard, meeting his glittering eyes. “I want to feel you sliding into me. I want to feel your… your…” I pause, losing some of my fire at the dirty words that lingered at the edge of my tongue.

I couldn’t possibly say such things to him. They were wrong and sinful. I couldn’t--

The hot hardness of his sex presses in further, almost breaching my fleshy barrier. “My what, Silva? Come now, don’t be afraid to express yourself.” His mouth finds my ear, whispering a taunt. “I want to hear you beg for me.”

“Your cock.” I moan in surrender. “I want your cock. Please, let me have it. Take me any way that you wish, only...” Vulnerability hits me, sending a shiver of unease through my magically caged limbs. “Please, don’t leave me like this... I need you.”

His expression softens. A hand finds my cheek, stroking it gently in reassurance. Harsh shadows creep across the lines of his face, darkening them into a mixture of lust and some other unknown emotion.

He says not a word. He doesn’t even give me a heed of warning before his hips snap forward. The thick length of his shaft dives straight into me without restraint or resistance. My walls squeeze at his invasion, smug like a finely fitted glove. A cross between a hiss and a moan leaves my lips as my head flies back in pure bliss.

“That’s it, Silva,” he utters, throbbing within me. “Show me your passion.”

He begins to move, sawing in and out of my body in a rhythm as old as time itself. I am stretched to the maximum, forced to take him with each excruciating thrust. His length rubs at my sensitive walls as they suction at him, trying to swallow him deeper. Needing more.

I am held immobilised against the wall, unable to move. With ease, Loki finds a slow and steady rhythm, standing between my part thighs. His free hands briefly skim across my nipples, teasing them lightly, before edging down to nestle between my thighs, spreading my cunt wider for his pleasure.

"Oh, how I have dreamt of this moment,” he murmurs breathlessly, more to himself than to me.

His stare is lowered, fixated upon our bodies, watching every slick and slide our mating. I can hear the slapping of moistened flesh and my own feminine cries of ecstasy.

“I have forever been in your shadow since the first moment you came to our realm. I haven’t been able to take my eyes off of you. And to see you like this now...” He quickens his pace, his thrusts becoming hard and pounding. Almost possessive. “It is truly my undoing.”

“What is the meaning of this!”

I stiffen, fear slicing through my bubble of wanton abandon at the familiar deep voice coming from the doorway. Still joined, we both turn our heads to find Havor’s hulking mass standing there, a look of pure fury across his bearded face.

By all that was sacred, this couldn’t be happening. Not like this. I struggle against the invisible bonds that hold me.

“Loki,” I utter his name quietly, a plea for freedom.

Loki slows his pace but doesn’t fully stop; a fact that both startles and excites me. His glare is like a brand upon the other male. Burning.

His lips slither into a sly smile, full of cunning and cool surety. “You dare to interrupt me, Lord Havor, Son of Hasslëfjord?” His teeth flash a little as he slowly starts to pull out of me, hovering right at the tight edge of my entrance. I can feel him throbbing and it causes a moan to fly free from my lips. “Is there something you require? Whatever it is, I hope it’s important enough to warrant your stupidity into bursting in here without permission. Can’t you see I’m busy?” The taunting question hung in the air, light and threatening all at once.

At the other man’s silence, Loki chuckles. “Well? Have you lost your tongue along with your ego?”

“How dare you! You dishonour me greatly, Princeling. The King shall hear of this!” Havor strides forward, only to then pause and look to me, his displeasure dark and clear. “And as for you, you little whore, I shall--”

“Your beautiful wife is so tight, Lord Havor.”

My whimper of terror morphs into a husky groan as Loki angles my right leg higher, just so that his next impaling thrust is in full view. He retreats, right to the tip again, pausing there for the other man to see, only to then surge forward with an overly enthusiastic groan. My toes curl. My hot channel clutches at him, fluttering on the brink of something spectacular.

“And she moans so sweetly for me. Don’t you think?” He purrs, leaning down to place an almost loving kiss against my nose. “Just look at how needy she is.”

“This...” Havor stammers, at a loss for words, his anger fading fast. “I will not accept this.”

“Won’t you?” Loki replies smoothly. “And what, pray tell, will you do about it? For I am your Prince, a Son of Odin himself. To deny me is to warrant punishment, or worse.” He slides inward again, simultaneously strumming the back of his knuckles against my nipple until I’m writhing against him.

“Loki, please!” I can’t hold back the cry. I need him to give me relief. My face heats, but I am too far gone to care about my husband watching us. I don’t care what happens after this.

“You have served my family for many centuries, Havor. You should know by now that I can be merciful, but I can also be cruel,” Loki says, still looking at the other man across the room. “Choose wisely which you’d rather have. Either way, I intend to keep her for myself.”

“Why you little--!”

Havor lunges forward, fists ready to pummel the life out of us both. Only, he doesn’t even make it a few steps before he crumples to a kneel against the floor. His chunky fingers claw at his throat, his face bulging red as though choking, being strangled by some invisible force. A heartbeat passes. And then another. A huge gulping breath suddenly rushes into Havor’s mouth and he crumples forward, gasping hard.

“Leave.” The imperative command is whispered, yet it seems to rebound from wall to wall. Echoing. “She is yours no longer. I have staked my claim on her. Tomorrow I will speak to my father on releasing her from your keeping. Do not let me see your face in this palace ever again.”

Havor scrambles to his feet, clearly torn with what to do. After a brief moment, he simply nods, retreating towards the door with a slump of defeat. “As you wish, Your highness.”

The door closes behind him as if by some unseen wind. All at once, we are alone again as tears of gratitude and unease streak down my cheek. Just like that, I’d been handed over like cattle. I didn’t know whether to be immensely pleased or horrified.

“Shh,” Loki’s thumb brushes away a droplet at the edge of my chin, soothing gently. “Do not shed tears for one such as him. You are free now, Silva.”

“Thank you.” It’s all I can manage to say. “I am forever at your mercy.”

“Oh? I quite like the sound of that, Silva.” He slides forward with a sly smirk, his hand sliding down between our bodies to play at the small bud of nerves at the top of my sex. I jerk, hit by alarming shards of pleasure. “But I fear that even forever would not be enough for the things I wish to do to you.”

I moan again as his fingers pick up speed, flicking hard against my nub. His hips move faster as well, slamming right up against me until my teeth knock and the swell of his testes slap against my arse. I begin to tighten, hanging on the precipice between blissful torture and soul-shattering relief.

“Ah, that’s it,” he urges, pressing further against me. “Cum for me, Sweetling. Take your pleasure and give me everything in return.”

His entire body presses forward, straining hard. His face settles directly before mine, ensnaring my gaze so that all I can see is him. I cannot look away. Flesh rubs against flesh. My hole is raw and gripping him for dear life.

Still watching my eyes, his own turn darker. His pale face contorts, becoming almost feral in nature. He snarls with a flash of teeth. His release is near, I can feel it in the way his cock thickens and throbs within me.

His hand finds my throat, gripping it gently, yet undeniable possessive.

“Are you ready to take what I offer, beloved one?” He bites it out harshly, almost a groan of pain. “From now on, no other man will take this body, but me. It is _mine_.”

“Yes!”

And like that, I succumb to euphoria. Spasms wrack my frame as my cunt convulses and clamps around his shaft. Wave after wave rides through me as I drift in a sea of endless warmth. I shudder, jerking against him as if possessed, riding against him hard.

With a cry of victory, he lunges into me one more time, sliding in deep. Pulsating heat floods my womb, seeping out to dribble down the crease of my arse.

“Sweet Valhalla,” he groans against my throat with a shudder.

All at once, the magic binding me falls away and I crumple into his ready embrace. We both slide to the floor, with me straddled over his naked lap. His long arms cradle me close as he nuzzles into my hair. His hands roam everywhere as though they have a mind of their own. They cup my breasts lovingly, sliding around and down my back in a sensual caress. My own arms fly around him and my hands delve into his midnight hair.

“You are mine now,” he says it again, firmer this time, refusing to let me go.

For the first time, in what felt like a millennia, I feel a warm contentment settle through me. A sense of peace. For centuries I had dreamt of a man to love and cherish me above all others. Havor had not been that man, but another had come to claim me anyway. Never did I imagine it to be Loki, the god of mischief and trickery, of all people. And whilst at first I had been reluctant, now I only felt huge gratitude and affection for this strange, mysterious being in my arms.

I wanted to be his.

I nod, leaning down to place a light kiss against his cheek. “Aye, and you are mine.”


End file.
